


macramé

by Resamille



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Aromantic Jake English, Asexual Dave Strider, BDSM, Begging, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Choking, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Subspace, but like my post-canon because fuck actual canon post-canon, everyone is so fuckin poly its wild, listen i havent read anything after the og hs ok idk whats going on there, literally everyone is fucking each other, this fic is literally jsut ace dave and his squad of horny partners of various species, those two tags go great next to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: That's the thing, with the eight of you (or two, or four, depending on how you split up, or ten, or twenty, depending on how many people invite themselves over to your house). Together, you're a constellation. It doesn't take one star, but a multitude, and based on which ones are brightest in each season, the shapes in the sky are differentDownstairs, Dirk and John and Jade are one part of a constellation right now, and you and Roxy are another, and Rose and Kanaya make a different piece, and all in one you make a galaxy, or a universe, or something unexpectedly simple, like a family.Roxy pinches your arm. “Cheesy.”After the game, they all fall into each other's orbits, one way or another.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Everyone, Dave/Dirk/Jade/Jake/Jane/John/Rose/Roxy, John Egbert/Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the important fic notes: haha poly kids ok listen I vibe with stridercest ok let's get that out of the way right now, so if that isn't your thing now's probs a good time to walk away BUT on the other hand I'm pretty much disregarding the siblings concept entirely so if you're here for the incest angle unfortunately this fic will not cater to you. I've always found the in-canon siblings idea kind of a stretch tbh. too much cloning and fuckery to really make sense of it imo so i basically just said fuck it. though there are a questionable amount of jokes (are they really jokes) about mommy kinks. i'm not sorry.
> 
> also note that this fic is from dave's POV so it will largely be all focused on relationships between dave & others. so if you're really jazzed about seeing some jaderose or something I can't really make any promises. I'm also tagging for johndavekat because I have a bias and also because that somehow kind of became the loose plot of this fic. and by plot i mean there is no plot there is simply porn. 
> 
> also (x2 combo) tags will likely be updated with each chapter so mind any changes. there are also a number of things that get mentioned offhandedly so I haven't bothered to tag them, but let me know if you feel they should be included. 
> 
> also (x3 combo) I arrived at the title for this fic in a really roundabout way but felt it was worth mentioning because its unlikely to actually come up in the fic itself. macrame is a form of knot-tying for making. idk bracelets and pretty things. all forms of it that I know of require at least three strands, often with more complex knots or projects requiring more, so you can see how it relates here.

Normalcy is a tricky thing.

Earth C has it's own rebranded normal, and you know things were real different for the alpha session earth compared to how you grew up, but your life, specifically, tends to err pretty far on the weird side of the spectrum.

And the trolls aren't even the worst of it.

The place you come home to now is a far cry from the apartment you grew up in with your Bro. The AC always works, for one, and you and Jade have been at war over it since you got the place, since your Texan ass is used to an ambient temperature of mild heatstroke while she'll walk out in the snow with shorts.

The house is two-story and big enough for the eight of you, plus all your favorite people who make themselves at home on a regular basis. Even after Rose got married, she still hasn't managed to actually move out. She spends just as much time here as she does two blocks down the street in the hive she shares with Kanaya.

Turns out, surviving a traumatic death-riddled game with a bunch of idiots makes you attached to them, or something. Turns out, restarting society means you get to write the rules. Turns out, you all are kind of puppy-love stupid for each other.

Normalcy is a tricky thing, and goddamn has it been a fucking production figuring out what that means to you. But now—

Now you let yourself into your home, keys clinking against the lock, and make a half-ass attempt at wiping your shoes on the mat to keep Jane from yelling at you. You don't even get the door closed behind you before you hear someone moan.

You walk into the living room. “It's two. On a Sunday. Really? On the couch?”

Jade's back—bare, mind you, except for the long spill of her hair—is to you as she straddles a pair of legs laying along the length of the couch. She looks over her shoulder with a wild grin, ears twitching towards you. You see her arm move and hear choked-off gasp as a result.

“Who warranted your ire, this time?” you ask. Jade's gaze tracks you as you cross the room and lean over the back of the couch.

Dirk is laid out on it, face down, arms stretched up and behind his head, wrists cuffed. His shoulders are littered with bites, and his ass with the telltale red blotches from impact. Jade's sitting on the backs of his thighs, with her tits out and everything, because fuck doing anything kinky in the privacy of her room, you guess.

“He was being rude,” Jade says, sounding pleased with herself. She trails her fingers down Dirk's spine, ghosting over the bright red of a handprint on his left cheek. His breath hitches.

“Serves you right,” you tell him. “Jade'll fuck you up, man.”

“Mmph,” Dirk replies.

“How's Karkat?” Jade asks, rather conversationally for someone who's feeling up another person's ass. Dirk groans as she squeezes him. You're not quite sure if it's a good or bad noise.

“He's good,” you say. “Kicked his ass at Mario Kart.”

“Winner get to top?”

You snort. “Nah. We just hung out.”

“Bor-ing,” Jade singsongs.

You absently thread your fingers through Dirk's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He lets out a soft sigh. “Wow,” you tell Jade, dry as a fucking desert, “It's almost like I'm ace, or something.”

“Karkat is so fun to play with, though,” Jade pouts. “Missed opportunity. Do you think he'd let me top him if you win at Mario Kart?”

You laugh. “Not a chance. Gotta earn your right to make Karkitty a complete mess. Your only options are to own his ass with blue shells or court the fuck out of him like some Victorian-era gentleman.”

“That's not true,” you hear John say from behind you. “He's got a couple of other on switches.”

“Bullshit,” you say. “Getting Karkat into subspace is like trying to get a horse to drink water except it's a stupid stubborn horse who keeps trying to bite you and not in the sexy way. Not that a horse should be biting you in any sort of sexy way in the first place.”

Dirk starts to make a noise at that, and you yank on his hair so that whatever he's about to say turns into a moan instead. Like hell are you going to let him comment on that.

John drapes his weight over you, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “Maybe that's how it is for you.”

You tilt your head to look at him. He's got his face tucked against your shoulder, grinning up at you like he's got all the secrets to the universe. “Bullshit,” you tell him again.

“Nah. You just don't know how to push his buttons.”

You tilt your head and thunk your temple against his. It knocks both your shades and his glasses askew. John grumbles about it.

You say, “I'm just realizing I've never seen you two together.”

“It's a sight,” Jade chirps. “Karkat's pretty when you choke him.”

“Hey!” John complains, “You're giving away my secrets.”

You roll your eyes. “You like showing off too much to keep any secrets.”

John pouts. “It's not _me_ that I like showing off.” His lips brush across your jaw, under your ear, voice low when he murmurs, “You just look so pretty when you're—”

“Mm, yeah, nope, stopping you there,” you say. You slide out from under him and pat his shoulder. “I love you but not now. Take it out on Dirk. Look, he's been so good for Jade while we've been talking. Hasn't complained at all.”

John hums. He catches you before you can properly abscond and presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Love you too.”

“Don't be too mean to him,” you say. “Come get me when you're done.”

“Might be a while,” says Jade.

Dirk whines.

John gives you a thumbs up, looking every bit the boyish dork you've known your whole life, and you watch as he squares his shoulders, face dropping into stern and attractive as he says to Dirk, “Now what kind of attitude is that, baby? We're gonna take such good care of you.”

You leave Dirk to his punishment.

Upstairs, Roxy's door is open. You slip into her room. Then into her bed. Then into her arms.

She balances her laptop on her knees while you wriggle into a comfortable position next to her, and she gets her arms around your shoulders without once taking her eyes off her screen. You scan about three lines of code before your brain just glazes over and instead of trying to follow what she's doing, you bury your face against her collarbone and breathe in the scent of her fruity soap.

“How's Karkat?” Roxy asks.

“Good,” you murmur. “He's planning on doing a road trip with Eridan next week.”

“That sounds fun!”

“I've been officially banned from accompanying them since both Eridan and Karkat are liable to commit murder if forced to remain for long periods within three feet of my, and I quote, 'incessant shit-spewing flappers.'”

Roxy laughs. “Sounds like your un-invitation is for your own good.”

“Well, yeah. But like. Rude.”

“So rude,” Roxy agrees, but you can hear the smile in her voice. “A road trip would be fun.”

“They'd probably let you go with them. Eridan loves you.”

“You think?” Roxy's lips flutter across your forehead. “I was thinking of something else, though. Just a few of us.”

Something about Roxy always makes you feel at peace. Maybe her void powers manage to cancel out all the clutter in your brain. You hum a response, but honestly you're so comfortable, pressed up against her, that you're pretty close to dozing off. She wouldn't mind, if you did, even if she was in the middle of talking.

“Yeah,” she continues, and you manage to stay awake. “Like maybe. Maybe do a Strilonde family road trip. Take a couple days off. Go camping or something ridiculous like that.”

“Good luck detaching Rose and Kanaya. They're a package deal.”

Roxy giggles. The sound makes you feel like your chest is filled with light. Rogue of Void, indeed—she steals the darkness out of you.

“I'll sic Jade on Kanaya. She'll keep her busy.”

You snort, but you suppose it could work. “Yeah, that might be nice, actually.”

It's been a while, since some of you have had a moment to yourselves. Or to each other. That's the thing, with the eight of you (or two, or four, depending on how you split up, or ten, or twenty, depending on how many people invite themselves over to your house). Together, you're a constellation. It doesn't take one star, but a multitude, and based on which ones are brightest in each season, the shapes in the sky are different

Downstairs, Dirk and John and Jade are one part of a constellation right now, and you and Roxy are another, and Rose and Kanaya make a different piece, and all in one you make a galaxy, or a universe, or something unexpectedly simple, like a family.

Roxy pinches your arm. “Cheesy.”

It occurs to you that you might have been mumbling all that poetic bullshit into her collarbone.

Her laptop ends up tipped off her thighs and onto the comforter, and Roxy rolls so that you tumble off her and end up sprawled across her bed as she leans over you. She's like a panther as she settles herself on top of your body, a lithe and terrible beast laying claim to its prey, and she presses a kiss to your jaw that you're sure will leave black lipstick smeared on your skin like a battle scar.

“You're sweet, Dave Strider,” she murmurs

“Like sugar?”

“Like candy and kittens.”

And then she brushes her lips across yours, and she's soft and warm and amazing. If Rose were here, she'd be making all sorts of comments about ecto-moms and Freud-shit, but she has no place to talk because the last time you saw Rose was last night when Roxy was eating her out.

Now, though, Rose isn't here to be snarky, and Roxy kisses you, and her tongue runs wet and warm over your lips, and you let her in. She braces one arm over your head and licks into your mouth. Her free hand skims across the cotton of your shirt, laid across your ribs.

You're pliant and starved for her at the same time. As starved as you can manage: you crave her kindness, her reassurance, her presence, and she reminds you that she's here with the press of her lips and the taste of her tongue and the gentle scratch of her nails.

She always kisses you like you're something treasured. She and Dirk both. Like you're something worth protecting, like your callouses and scars are remnants of life long-past and now you're something new and wonderful.

Roxy pulls away long enough to slip your shades off and toss them over her shoulder so they land near her laptop. You blink up at her, a little dazed and kissed into contentment.

“Look at you,” she purrs. “You can't just expect me not to kiss you. Not looking like that. Not after saying such nice things.”

You shake your head slowly. “Just words,” you say. “Don't mean nothin'.”

Roxy puts her hand on your cheek. She brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. You feel the waxy smear of her lipstick. “Maybe not to you, baby. But you really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

You try to scoff, but it comes out like a giggle. “You make me real stupid.”

She grins, cheeky. “Maybe I'm a bit of a charmer, too, then.”

“You're certainly _something_ ,” you answer.

Roxy takes it as a compliment, because she's kissing you again, mapping out the shape of your mouth like she's a cartographer and its her job. And maybe you get a little into it too, because when you slip your tongue into her mouth, she lets out a soft noise like everything's right in the world, and you want her to keep doing that, keep feeling like that.

She deserves it—she deserves the world.

You settle your hands on her hips, slipping your thumb under her shirt to caress over her skin. You move higher, sliding your palms over her bare skin at her waist, pressing flat against the small of her back. She's warm and smooth under your skin, and you could touch her forever, just doing this, feeling her against you and letting her kiss your thoughts away.

But she pulls back over a moment, pressing a parting kiss to the corner of your mouth. “What do you want, here, Dave?”

You wrap your arms around her and she resettles so all her weight lays over you. “Just this,” you mumble. “Just you.”

Roxy presses a kiss to your jaw. “Tease,” she says, but you know she's joking. You watch her gaze flick across your face. “You're beautiful, you know that?”

You don't, not really, but beauty is a weird thing for you. Your partners are beautiful, each in their own ways. Roxy's all smile and soft and adoring. She makes you feel good. She makes you feel human (in the morality sense and not the human-versus-alien sense). You see beauty in that, in the curve of her collarbone and the smooth and unblemished expanse of her back, of the way her shoulder blades fit into your palms.

You don't feel that towards yourself. You're just—you. Neutrality. A baseline.

Still, instead of arguing, you kiss her nose, leaving a ghost smear of lipstick. “You're one to talk,” you say. “You're gorgeous.”

Roxy hums, pleased, and she traces a nail gently down your neck, raising goosebumps. You let your eyes slip closed.

“Are you busy?” you ask. “What were you doing before I interrupted? Hacking the government?”

“Nothing important,” Roxy says. “Not as important as you.”

That goes to your head like a drug. “Can we stay like this?”

Roxy turns her head to rest her cheek on your chest. “'Course, babe.”

“Love you,” you say.

“You're so easy,” Roxy giggles. “Love you, too.”

“What were you working on, actually?”

“Sollux and I are in the middle of another coding prank war.”

You huff a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Roxy traces her finger along your neck again, an absent little touch, a pattern, familiar and soothing. She tells you about how her last move was to make Sollux's fridge run away from him (she may have had to actually hack one of Dirk's bot to get away with that), and then she rambles about her upcoming ideas. You do, in fact, fall asleep while she speaks.

When you wake up an hour or so later, it's to Roxy leaning over you with a makeup wipe in her hands. She smiles at you, and you know you're right in that she doesn't mind the fact you dozed off. Instead of berating you, she says, “Should clean up before bed. Bad for your skin, otherwise. Can't have that flawless Strider face getting acne.”

You laugh and sleepily shove at her, but you let her dab the makeup off you.

You're not entirely sure how you got here, despite being exactly sure how you got here. You spent three hours, twenty-two minutes, and fourteen seconds in Dirk's pickup, tent and beer and a bunch of other shit tossed in the truck bed. You called dibs on car DJ, but somehow Rose snagged shotgun before you could get it, so she monopolized most of the music. Roxy fell asleep on you at one point.

But you're not entirely sure how this whole thing _happened_. You suspect Roxy somehow managed to convince Dirk, and Dirk, being the absolute fuckin' mom he is, managed to drag Rose away from Kanaya, meanwhile Roxy probably set up some sort of sexy weekend-long shenanigans between Jade and Kanaya.

Now that you think about it, maybe you know exactly how this happened, too.

And now that you're here, you're immensely grateful for it. Rose tugs you by the hand through the forest, and it's dark as shit, and there's probably, like, bears or something out there, but none of you care because you're _gods_ , and you're also stupid idiots in love.

Crickets chirp around you, and Roxy curses violently as she trips over a root, only for Dirk to catch her and float them both up and out of the danger zone.

“Where are we _going_?” you ask.

“You'll see!” sing-songs Roxy. “Dirk, go that way!”

“I know where we're going,” Dirk deadpans. “I have, actually, looked at the National Park's map.”

“Cheater,” Roxy pouts. “Don't tell Dave.”

“Rude,” you splutter.

“You'll like it,” Rose says.

“I'd like to know what it is, that's what.”

“Here, we're here!” Roxy chirps.

You look up from where you're trying not to trip over your own feet, and find that the trees thin out considerably, enough to let moonlight illuminate the lake in front of you. There's about five feet of grassy bank before the water laps lazily at the dirt.

“Okay,” you say, “I admit, it's pretty.”

Dirk and Roxy land on the ground next to you. Rose slips her hand out of yours and reaches for the hem of her shirt.

It clicks. “You're joking.”

Rose pulls her shirt off. She's not wearing a bra underneath. She looks you straight in the eyes, and though it's hard to make out her expression, you have a pretty clear picture in your head of the amused disdain that she's watching you with.

“No balls,” Rose challenges.

“It's gonna be freezing,” you say. “Do you want me to freeze? I'm a fragile summer flower, and you intend to trample on me by taking me skinny dipping in the middle of March.”

“No balls!” Rose says again, and wriggles out of her jeans.

“Yeah, 'cause they're gonna shrivel up from the cold!”

Dirk chuckles and presses his shoulder to yours. “I'll warm you back up if you get frostbite.”

“If I get frostbite, there will be no recovery. Thousands of years from now, scientists will unearth my perfectly preserved body and say, 'what the fuck, this idiot went swimming with no clothes on while it's still spring and cold and just straight up died, L-O-L.'”

Dirk wraps his arms around your waist from behind. Against the back of your neck, he murmurs, “You're such a drama queen.”

Dirk grapples with your shirt, and you realize what he's doing, but you're a fool and you don't think quick enough to stop him. He wrestles your shirt over your head and you let out a screech like a feral raccoon, and Rose starts laughing so hard she snorts.

You whirl to make more raccoon noises at Dirk, but he stops you by kissing you right on the mouth, and really, it's hard to sound like a wild animal when one of your partners is kissing you. So instead, you kiss him back while bopping him on the head, which is probably something you picked up from Karkat, honestly.

Dirk starts laughing into the kiss, and that makes it fall apart so he pulls away and pulls his shirt off at the same time. “C'mon, can't let the Lalondes show us up, right?”

You grumble out a, “I fucking guess,” and start working at your pants.

While you're still kicking off your shoes, Roxy and Rose have gotten down to their bare skin. You pause in your undressing to watch them take each others' hands and step into the water. Roxy lets out a full body shudder and a little _eep_ , but Rose just keeps pulling her along until they're submerged to their waists.

“Water's fine, you babies!” Rose calls. “Oh, there's fish.”

Roxy gasps. “Think I could catch one?”

Rose laughs. “What for?”

“Maybe I'll make a friend,” Roxy says petulantly. “I dunno. Just to see if I can?”

“Well, I won't stop you from trying.”

You get distracted watching them bicker for too long, apparently, cause Dirk gets his hands on your belt and tugs your pants down for you. You screech at him again, long past being embarrassed about the noises you make because nothing compares to the terrible things you actually _say_.

Dirk smirks at you, and you glare as you get out of your boxers. And then once you're both naked, he puts his arm over your shoulder to keep you from running and drags you towards the lake.

You get your toes in and immediately let out a displeased hiss. “And I thought cuddling with Eridan was bad.”

Dirk takes one step into the water and says, emphatically, “Fuck.”

He sucks in a breath, letting his arm fall away from you, and then goes running into the water, letting out a long, repetitive string of _fuck, shit, fuck_ , until the water reaches to his shoulders. You hear him make some other weird noises, and then he goes quiet.

“Are you okay, Dirk?” Roxy calls.

“I've acclimated.”

“Have you now?” Rose hums.

“By which I mean I have astral projected hard enough I've stopped feeling my physical body.”

Roxy and Rose laugh at him.

“Really, though, it's not as bad once you get in,” Dirk continues.

“It isn't,” Rose agrees. “Come along, Dave. Just you left.”

You sigh, and slowly inch your way into the water. You're too busy being squeamish about the slimy dirt under your toes to catch the look that Rose gives Dirk, and by the time to look up at the sound of the resulting splash, it's too late.

You realize Dirk's flashstepped when you feel his arms grab you from behind. He hooks one of your legs into the crook of his elbow, and you tip sideways with a yelp, and you have just long enough to suck in a breath and pray for a swift death as Dirk tosses you bodily into the water.

Cold hits you in full system-shock, and the water closes in over your head. You come up, spluttering, shivering, and there's a particularly gross-feeling plant under your foot. You are suffering.

Roxy says, “You look like a drowned cat.”

“The experience of being a drowned cat would be heaven compared to this,” you say, shaking your hair out of your face. It takes you a moment to realize this is distinctly ineffective because you are not, in fact, Jade, who does those sort of dog-habits all the time without thinking and somehow makes them work. You resort to using your hands to push your bangs out of your eyes.

Rose lets out a little surprised noise. “I just got bit by a fish.”

“Don't tell me that,” you say. “How big are the fish in here?”

“Sooo big,” Roxy says, and you pout at her. “I'm gonna catch one.”

“I can't imagine you can see them very well,” Rose muses. “But I don't foresee that stopping you from trying. Should I try to scare them towards you?”

“Sure!” Roxy cheers. “Try over there.”

Rose dutifully swims to where Roxy points.

Dirk, meanwhile, has made his way deeper into the water. You keep a wary eye on him on him as he gets close to you, but he just settles between you and Rose, crouched so that the water laps at his collarbone, even though it only comes to your waist where you're standing.

“I don't know what you're planning,” you tell him, “But leave me out of it.”

“You're full of hot air,” he says. “You love my plans.”

“No, I'm full of very, very cold air, and probably some water, no thanks to you.” You shiver again.

“It's better in the water.”

Slowly, you let yourself sink down until you're crouching like he is.

“See? Not so bad.”

“I reserve the right to complain regardless of bad qualifications.”

“Don't stay still or the fish will get you.”

You whine. Another Jade habit, dog gammit, wait no—god dammit. Fuck. “How did you _ever_ live surrounded by ocean.”

Dirk shrugs, making the water lap around him. “Wasn't much left but lusii. I'm surprised you never really went to the beach.”

“Bro wasn't super great about family outings. Besides, the salt would hurt on open wounds.”

Dirk lets out a humorless chuckle. “We can't have a normal fuckin' conversation, can we?”

You grin at him. “Nah, never.”

Under the surface, Dirk reaches for your hand. You squeak.

“What the hell,” he says.

You take his hand and thread your fingers together before he can take true offense. Quietly, you admit, “I thought you were a fish.”

Dirk's laugh is full of humor, this time. It's your turn to kiss him to make him shut the fuck up.

Some ways off, Roxy triumphantly shouts, “I got one!”

You love these idiots. So much.

Later that night, hair still dripping wet with lake water, you sleep on a pile of sleeping bags, snuggled between Dirk and Rose. Dirk keeps his promise, and, in the circle of his arms, you're warm and comfortable and you wouldn't trade this for the world.

You hear a whine from somewhere in the hallway. You grab the nearest pillow and chuck it in the direction of the sound. Jade lets out an affronted bark.

This is why Rose and Kanaya had to get their own house.

You've fought a verifiable hunger games for Kanaya rights tonight, and Jade _still_ keeps trying to pull some shit, even though she had Kanaya to herself literally all weekend. Granted, she probably had to fight off the others who stayed home the whole time, but that's just how it is. Kanaya is in high demand among the humans.

You have Kanaya trapped between the arm of the couch and your body, which is a little mean probably, but it means you can kick at anyone who tries to make any moves on the two of you. This is Dave-and-Kanaya movie time, not Dave-and-Kanaya-and-everyone movie time.

You're leaning into Kanaya's side, and she's got her arms looped over your shoulders. You're watching some horror flick, complete with chainsaw killer and horrible effects. Kanaya keeps up a running commentary on the murderer's chainsaw form and the movie makeup while you keep up a running commentary on everything else that's terrible about the story.

“Oh, that's a very bad grip,” Kanaya murmurs. She leans her cheek on your head. “He'd never cut through bone like that.”

“Good thing it's poorly-painted foam and not actually bone,” you say. “Did no one train these people how to properly scream? That was so fake.” You laugh at some horrible disemboweling happening on screen. “Oh man, that one was even worse.”

Kanaya scowls. “For the amount of blood on screen, I would expect at least some of it to appear appetizing, and yet.”

You hear commotion that doesn't come from evisceration on TV and instead comes from down the hall where you'd thrown the pillow. Kanaya glances over the back of the couch.

“Don't acknowledge it, you'll summon the drama,” you say.

Kanaya breathes out a laugh. “I think Jade's jealous.”

“Jade can suck it,” you say, “I called dibs.”

“Ah yes, the longstanding human ritual of _dibs_.”

“Exactly. Be glad Jade's the dog and not me because otherwise I'd be pissing everywhere to mark my territory.”

Kanaya makes a face. “Why do I hang out with you, again?”

“Because I give the best fuckin' cuddles.”

“No, _I_ give the best cuddles.”

“Damn, you're right. I've been out-cuddled. The student has surpassed the master. Teach me your ways, Kanaya-senpai. I am your humble cuddle-kouhai.”

Kanaya huffs a laugh into your hair. “You're ridiculous.”

“Incoming!” someone calls.

You brace for impact, ready to kick someone off you when they inevitably try to insert themselves between you and Kanaya, the absolute cuddle _gods_ of the household. “Try me, motherfucker!”

But Jake just descends upon you over the back of the couch like a benevolent deity, dropping a bowl of popcorn into your lap.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Jake. Jake. I love you. So much. You're the best.”

“I believe that should cover my toll for joining you both,” Jake says.

He hops over the back of the couch, and settles against the opposite armrest with his own bowl of popcorn. Jake can stay. Jake has rights. Jake brought you popcorn. You turn so you're leaning your back against Kanaya and shove your feet under Jake's thigh, which is possibly a detriment to kicking any other intruders, but Jake's thighs are warm and your toes are cold and Jake doesn't even flinch as he shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Kanaya's arms ends up over your shoulder with her hand falling across your chest. She pets you absently across your your sternum, and then waggles her fingers towards the popcorn bowl in your lap. You dutifully raise it for her to grab a handful.

“Do you ever get popcorn kernels stuck in your fangs?” you ask.

“Don't you get popcorn kernels stuck in your teeth?”

“Yeah, but not usually around the canines.”

“I don't think it's especially different for me, then,” Kanaya says. “Though...”

She pushes at your shoulder, and you fall into her lap instead of leaning on her, and she pries your mouth open with her free hand. You blink up at her, and her expression of concentration is actually pretty damn cute.

“Your teeth are flatter,” she states. “Humans, in general, I mean. Except Jade's.”

“Jade's are brutal,” Jake agrees without taking his eyes off the TV.

Kanaya releases your jaw. “Human teeth are designed for crushing, yes?”

You toss a piece of popcorn in your mouth. “Yeah.”

“I think they are slightly more effective at consuming popcorn,” Kanaya says. “We will have to get Jade to perform a study on it.”

“Oh no,” you say, “No food studies. She'll make us eat popcorn until we burst. I _still_ refuse to touch marshmallows after the last time.”

“Oh god,” Jake groans. “Don't remind me.”

“No food studies,” you say again.

Kanaya chews through some popcorn. “I don't know if I'd mind consuming popcorn until I burst, if I'm honest.”

“What a way to go,” says Jake.

You flick a piece of popcorn up at Kanaya. She tries to catch it, misses, and then it bounces back onto your face. It lands on your cheek and you try to get it with your tongue and only succeed in covering your own face with spit. Kanaya flicks it into your mouth for you.

“Just wait until you try kettle corn,” you tell her.

“What's that?”

“Popcorn, but instead of butter and salt, it's sweet.”

You've never seen Kanaya look _scared_ , not even moments before her wedding, and yet now she makes a face that's a good approximation of horror. “What? Wh—why would you—no, _no_. _Sweet_?”

You laugh. “It's good, I promise.”

“No, no,” says Kanaya, “I don't believe you.”

“That it's good?”

“That it _exists_.”

You laugh. “It's a thing!”

Jake, across the couch, nods sagely and says, “It is a thing.”

“It's, like, country fair food.”

The look Kanaya gives you dubious. “I am not familiar with this cuisine.”

“We gotta go to one, sometime,” you tell her. “Shit's always the sort of thing that you can only take one bite out of before the grease ties your intestines into a friendship bracelet or you get KO'd by sugar coma.”

“None of this sounds appealing unless I get to watch it happen to someone else.”

“Oh, that's part of the fun, for sure,” you admit, “Watching someone spew while on those spinny fuckers that go upside-down? Priceless.”

“What in hell's name are you talking about?” Jake asks.

“There's these rides. That spin, but they go upside-down, too. I dunno what they're called. Dirk or Rose probably know. They know fuckin' everything. Anyway, Kanaya, we've got to get you some fried oreos.”

“Every time you add to this story, I'm more convinced it's just an elaborate ploy to trick me into putting sugar on my popcorn.”

“Fried oreos are real!” you say. “They're— _oh_! Hold on, I know—”

You fumble the popcorn bowl into Kanaya's hands and vault over the back of the couch. Your feet are instantly cold again now that they're not tucked under Jake's thighs, but whatever, you have a point to prove.

“Jane!” you screech as you dart down the hall, then upstairs.

You hear a growl and see a flash of green out of the corner of your eye as you scamper by, which means Jade's absolutely made a move on Kanaya, and you're a fool for leaving her undefended. You're torn between committing to delicious and terrible fried oreos and fending off Jade.

Jane's head pops out of the door to her room. “Dave? Is everything okay?”

Oreos win out. You wrap yourself around Jane like a useless lanky koala. She allows this, mostly because any attempt to throw you off would end with both of you falling over since your center of gravity is so much higher than hers. “Jane, Janey, love of my life, hottest hot cook in the kitchen, most likely to win the Great British Bake Off—”

“Excuse you, if anything, I'd be judging for the Great British Bake Off.”

“Right, 'course, my deepest apologies, my lady, only the most exemplary bakers would—”

Jane plants her hand over your mouth. “What do you want Dave?”

“Can you make fried oreos?” you ask into her hand. “Kanaya's never had 'em.”

Jane quirks a brow. “Will you eat some if I do?”

“I'll consume so many fried oreos,” you promise.

Jane _hmm_ s at you. You kiss her palm, still over your mouth.

“You have to help me make them,” Jane bargains.

“Deal,” you say, and Jane moves her hand and seals it with a kiss.

You follow her downstairs. In the living room, Jade's taken over your spot on the couch like the harlot she is. You detour on your way to the kitchen to haul her off Kanaya.

You get your hands under her armpits and tugs. Jade _boofs_ at you and says, “No! Bad Dave! Finders-keepers!”

“I had dibs!” you counter, and pull lightly at one of Jade's ears. Enough to piss her off but not enough to hurt. She growls. “Come help me and Jane make fried oreos.”

The growl cuts off. This time, when you tug at Jade's arms, she gives in, just a bit.

“Come on,” you say, “Chocolate, Jade. Chocolate.”

Jade sniffs. “I do like chocolate.”

“You two are loud,” Jake complains.

Jade murmurs a “Sorry,” and escapes your grip in order to lean over and plant a kiss on Jake's cheek. That done, she grabs you by the arm with a grip of steel, and next thing you know you're standing in the kitchen and very disoriented.

“Jade, what did we say about teleporting in the house,” Jane scolds, without looking up from where she's extracting bowls from a cupboard. “Are you going to be helpful?”

“I can be persuaded.”

“How so?”

“Dave has to wear The Apron.”

You groan. “Fine.”

Jane giggles and digs The Apron out. It's frilly and white and that would be fine except it also has the classic _Kiss the Cook_ slathered across the chest. Whenever Jane wears it, everyone in the house drops sweet little pecks on her cheeks while she works. Whenever you or Dirk wear it, everyone else takes it as an opportunity to pin you against the counter and make you moan. Dirk loves it, like the slut he is. You find it inconvenient.

Jane slips the apron over your head. You reach to tie it behind your back, but Jane still has the strings in her hands. She steps forward, flush against your front, and wraps her arms around you, tying the apron for you. It's almost a hug. Smooth, Jane, smooth. You drop a kiss onto her forehead while she's there.

Jane steps away and starts gathering ingredients. Jade, predictably, immediately pins you to the counter. She's warm where she presses against you—always runs hot and affectionate all at once. She nips at your jaw, and you decide to indulge her.

Her lips are soft and wet and she licks into your mouth in record time. You taste popcorn butter on her tongue. You tangle your hands in her hair, fingers nudging right at the base of her ears where you know she loves it, and her hands roam, entirely unrepentant, down to your ass.

She tugs you closer, somehow squirming her way between your legs so your balance is off and you literally have to lean against the counter to avoid falling, but Jade's there, too, keeping you up, and grinding your crotch against her stomach for you, and you feel heat, a rare thing, flash through your bloodstream. It almost leaves you dizzy, and you know your mouth has gone slack against Jade's as she devours you.

At least until Jane smacks Jade's ass with a rolled-up towel, and Jade lets out one of those dog-yelps like you've stepped on her metaphorical tail. She gets her teeth out of the way to avoid biting you, though, and you're grateful for that. Even as she turns to glower at Jane, you keep your arms around her, nuzzling against her cheek.

“You said you'd help,” Jane huffs. “We can play with Dave, later.”

Jade relaxes back against you. “Can we now?”

“I'm sure we can convince him,” Jane says.

“You already have,” you admit, pressing your half-hard dick against Jade's back. She squirms, pleased with herself. “Kinda regretting asking for the oreos, now.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jane counters. She holds up the dish towel threateningly, “You promised.”

“I promised,” you concede, and untangle yourself from Jade.

You both play the dutiful helpers in Jane's kitchen. You mix ingredients and taste-test and only steal a couple of oreos before they get dunked in batter. Twenty minutes later, you're sitting on the counter while Jane drops batter-covered oreos in oil when Jake and Kanaya wander back in.

“Finish the movie?” you ask.

“Yup,” Jake answers, and steals some leftover oreos. He eats them by scraping the cream off with his teeth first and then eats the cookie by itself. Heathen.

Kanaya nibbles at a cookie. She looks at you, appraising.

Ah, you'd almost forgotten about The Apron.

You hold your arms out. “Come pay your dues. Can't come into the kitchen without kissing the cook.”

Jake snorts. “You're not even helping.”

“I helped! Earlier. I mixed batter.”

“He did help,” Jane vouches.

“I was the most helpful.”

“Now, I didn't say that,” Jane says.

Jake rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He plants a chocolate kiss across your lips, and you have to lick cookie crumbs off the corner of your mouth afterwards. “Gross.”

“You're gross,” Jake answers.

You grab his hand before he can slip away and press a kiss to his knuckles. “Love you,” you murmur against his fingers. “Thanks for the popcorn.”

He watches you for a second, and then smiles. Sometimes Jake doesn't know what to do with affection, in the same way you don't know what do to with sex. But you and the others lay it on him, anyway. You know he loves you, too, in his own way. “Anytime, old chap.”

“Old?” you echo, incredulous.

“It's a turn of phrase,” Jane supplies. “Jake, love, come give the actual cook a kiss.”

Jake squeezes your hand and then goes to kiss Jane's temple. Then her cheek. Then her mouth. She bats him away before the oreos can burn.

Kanaya, meanwhile, walks up to you and, while you're busy watching Jade draw pictures in a spill of flour on the counter, plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Oh,” you say, because that hasn't happened before.

“Are my dues paid?”

“I dunno. You could go for a bonus donation. One full Strider kiss to save a starving child, give toys to kids with cancer, end poverty with just one—”

This time, she kisses you firmly on the mouth. Oh, that's nice. The temperature difference is odd—it's been a while since you've made out with Terezi, but that's about the closest to Kanaya's caste that you know. You can't feel her fangs behind her lips, and you're curious, but not brave enough to deepen the kiss without Rose here.

You hear a phone camera click. Jade giggles.

Kanaya pulls away. You lick her lipstick off your lips. “Thanks for your contribution.”

“Gladly,” Kanaya hums. She grabs your chin, tilting your face up towards her. “That would be a good color on you.”

“I'm sending this to Rose,” Jade announces.

“Any color is good on me,” you tell Kanaya.

“You certainly favor darks and reds, though,” she says. “You should let me do your makeup sometime.”

“Next time I go on a date with Karkat,” you say.

Kanaya grins. “He'd throw a fit.”

Jade comments, “He'd look good with lipstick kisses on his skin.”

You laugh. “Are you ever not horny?”

“Dating a minimum of seven really hot people? Yeah, never. It's kinda a problem.”

“These are done, by the way,” Jane says, gesturing at a plate of fried oreos.

You reach across the counter and get flour on your apron in the process, but that's what it's for anyway, and grab a couple of cookies. You pass one to Kanaya.

“I'm dubious,” Kanaya says, but she bites into the fried oreo anyway. “Oh.”

“Instant sugar hit,” you tell her.

She nods. “I was not planning on getting wasted tonight.”

“You don't have to finish it,” you start to say, but Kanaya's already shoved the rest in her mouth. “Or you can totally crash here tonight, no big deal.”

Kanaya reaches for another delicious and terrible fried oreo. “You're dealing with my hangover in the morning, Dave Strider.”

You have to bite you cheek to stop from beaming at her. Instead, you try for cool and say, “What else are moirails for?”

Kanaya's skin flickers like a firefly when she blushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In posting this as a chaptered fic, I'm doing something I haven't done in a very very long time. While I do have multichaptered fics up that are incomplete, namely bang pieces I didn't actually finish in time because I overcommit myself on the regular, I've never uploaded something here that I didn't know the ending for yet. I have countless WIPs that are sitting, thoroughly abandoned, in my documents, and some of them near wordcounts that really should warrant me actually finishing them, considering how much I've already put into them. But the thing is that I like having the freedom to abandon works without the pressure to continue a story. I'm taking a bit of a gamble, with this one. Mostly because I do expect to finish it in time, and it's nearing the point that it's become long enough to settle into a multichaptered fic rather than one of my aggressively long one-shots, but also because this fic is very much a series of snapshots. There's a general arc to it, but it's something that I actually truly feel could be stopped at the end of nearly every scene, which is rare for my works. I also am getting to the point that I'm not sure how finished this story is, and I think if I left it to sit I would get so desperate to be done with it so I can upload it that I would rush an ending just to cap it off so that I wouldn't have to acknowledge it anymore, and I am legitimately enjoying this fic too much to ruin it by prematurely completing it with a lackluster ending. So basically. I have no idea where this fic is going. I have no idea how or when it will end. And that's okay. It's the journey that counts, I guess, or some bullshit like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there sure are comments on this fic and i sure absolutely did enjoy them immensely but i also had 45 unread comments in my inbox spanning the last 6 months across like 6 different fics and i could not face the embarrassment of replying to comments that old so i marked everything as read i am so sorry LMFAO know that i love you all and you made my day(s)
> 
> also i realized i claimed this fic was post canon and then promptly forgot that not all the alternia trolls were actually alive and not some combination of furry sprites so. uh. fuck canon. my canon now. all the 12 alternia trolls are alive and may or may not be interspersed throughout the fic. we were so close to post canon and then my eridan bias decided to dropkick me in the nuts. he won't be in this chapter though.
> 
> also also i was going to use pesterlog styling but then i remembered that i have a personalized ao3 skin that makes certain colors impossible to read and for the sake of accessibility i decided to not potentially call that curse upon others so ahem fuck you pesterlogs.
> 
> anyway welcome to bonertown.

You let yourself and John into Karkat's hive and just as easily let out a shrill, “ _Honey, I'm home_.”

“Eat shit!” Karkat yells back.

Yet, when you find him in the kitchen, he's got his head in the fridge and asks, “You want anything?”

“I was promised shit,” you say, leaning on the other side of the fridge door. You almost try to squish Karkat inside, but then he'd probably be mad at you for the rest of the day, and you were really hoping to keep tonight as far away from blackrom as possible. John has plans.

“You into that?” Karkat counters, and hands you a bottle of apple juice over his shoulder.

“I love you,” you say, because nothing derails your banter faster than apple juice.

“I know.” He stands up closes the fridge, then freezes. “What the fuck is that on your face?”

You make a duck face at him. “Kanaya did my makeup.” She really only put lipstick on you, but whatever. You run your tongue lightly across your bottom lip. “Don't you think red's my color?”

Karkat appraises you for a moment, brows furrowed. Eventually, he settles on, “Hmm.”

From the doorway, John asks, “Alright, where's my sugar fix?”

Karkat turns away from you and lets out a long-suffering sigh, like it's some great chore to be desired. You know he is so, so full of shit, but you've been placated with apple juice, so you keep your mouth shut as Karkat makes a production of crossing the room to kiss John.

John lets him get away with a just quick peck.

Karkat crosses his arms. “Happy now?”

John grins. He brushes a lock of hair behind Karkat's ears, and if you were Terezi you'd be able to smell Karkat's blush from here. “It's a start.”

John leans forward and whispers something to Karkat. You don't catch it, and even if you did, it's not really your place to meddle. That's Rose's forte. Whatever it is, though, it makes Karkat's breath catch in his throat.

John straightens, still smiling, and Karkat stares at him for a moment. You'd almost think his expression would be mad if it wasn't for the fact you can see his hand twisting in the hem of his sweater. He's nervous.

“So,” Karkat starts. “What—uh—how's—”

“I'll chill here. You two get settled, first,” you offer, and judging by the way Karkat visibly relaxes, that's the right move.

See the thing is.

You've had sex with Karkat before. You've had sex with John before. You've had sex with both of them before.

What you have not done, though, is watched them do a scene together.

You know John loves showing off his partners, and you're certainly fine with sitting in, even if you're not necessarily participating, and Karkat loves you both, so it's not that big of a deal. But you also know Karkat is always desperate to cling to control. You tried some time back to dom for him, but you're not firm enough with him and it's too much work to care about the sex part for you to really get into it, so it didn't exactly work out.

So this is really John and Karkat's space, and you're invading, and you want to make it as easy as possible for Karkat because you know how it is when you're trying to sub but something's making you uncomfortable. Sucks balls, and not in the good way.

John walks over to you and kisses your cheek. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

“You sound like Jake.”

John rolls his eyes. “I'll text you when we're ready for you.”

“Sounds good.”

John slips out of the kitchen, presumably towards Karkat's bedroom. Before he follows, Karkat pads over to you and wraps his arms around you. You wheeze as he squeezes the air out of your lungs, but before you can catch your breath and snark at him, he darts out of the room and after John.

So. Waiting. You go ahead and make yourself at home on Karkat's couch with your apple juice, your feet sprawled up on the cushions. You know Karkat would bitch about it if he caught you, but you also know he lets Sollux get away with putting his shoes on the couch like a fuckin' heathen all the time, so you don't exactly feel bad about it.

You've got time to kill, so you turn on the TV, volume low so it doesn't reach through the walls to Karkat's bedroom, and eventually settle on a rerun of some romcom. Karkat's definitely forced you to watch this with him before, but you don't actually remember it well enough to pick up the plot halfway through. You leave it on anyway.

Mentally criticizing cheesy staged romance drama keeps you busy, at least. You've decided, stubbornly, that you are not nervous about this whatsoever. You are comfortable enough in your own space in your tangle of poly relationships that you know both John and Karkat will love you no matter how this goes.

But some part of you is still anxious about invading a dynamic not meant for you. Just like how you can't bring yourself to really snog Kanaya without Rose there to approve and/or supervise. It's all fun and games until someone gets their feelings hurt.

And see. The thing is that Karkat has a whole lot of feelings.

Your phone vibrates, but it's just Jane sending memes in the group chat. Followed immediately by a pic of Jade with her face buried between Jane's thighs, and you're pretty sure that's Jake's hand holding Jade's hair out of the way.

**Dave**

horny fucks

who renamed the groupchat again

**Rose**

You're one to talk.

**Dave**

i talk a lot

to which occasion do you refer

seriously what even is the group name

who is edith puthy

**Roxy**

wonk

**Dave**

roxy what does this mean

**Roxy**

woNK

**Rose**

Enjoy your date with John and Karkat.

You don't even manage two letters of a response before the text notification from John pops up on your phone. How the fuck does Rose _do_ that?

You silence your phone, turn off the TV, toss your empty apple juice bottle, make a cursory attempt at wiping your lipstick off now that it's already garnered a reaction, and now you're running out of things to do to waste time. Except. Well.

You slip your shades off and leave them on the coffee table. Deep breath.

Under normal circumstances, your goal while at Karkat's hive is to be the literal worst house guest ever, but today, instead of barging into his room as usual, you knock. John opens the door, and blocks the way in with his body.

“Safeword?”

“Hyacinth,” you say, dutifully. It's one of the flowers in Jade's garden, but you know exactly jack shit about plants, which means you generally aren't at risk rambling about them mid-scene. Experience has made the word a familiar taste in your mouth, so you know you won't forget. John and Karkat already know it, too, anyway, but John's nothing if not thorough.

“Did you hear that, Karkat?”

You can't see Karkat behind the door, but his voice comes out low and content-soft, “Yes.”

“What about yours, Karkat?” John asks over his shoulder.

“Signless,” Karkat says. You knew that, already, but it's been a while, so it probably was good to check.

“Yours is windmill,” you say to John.

John turns back to you with a smile. “Good, Dave.”

His voice sends warmth curling down the back of your neck, and you watch as John deliberately runs his gaze across your body. Oh. It's already... This is part of it, too, then.

“You gonna let me in?” you ask, after half a minute of silence and staring.

John hums. “Maybe. If you earn it.” He pulls his gaze back up to your face. “What happened to your glasses?”

Even now, you resist the urge to squirm, to hide. “Left them in the living room.”

“And why was that?” John prompts.

“I thought. You would want to see. Me. You usually do.”

“You're right,” John says, sounding smug and pleased. “I do like to see you. You did good.”

Your brain sings for the praise. You and Dirk, the hot messes you are, have annoying overlap in kinks. Praise gets you both so easy. You're pretty sure you remember Rose and Jane once talked Dirk into orgasm. You're not quite as weak for it, but... You _do_ crave it.

“I want you to do one more thing for me, and then you can come in,” John says.

“Okay.”

“Go get three water bottles from the fridge.”

You go without question. You're not so deep in it you don't recognize that John is just asking you to bring up some water so he won't have to get it later. But you also know you're being good for him. You could refuse, and John would probably still let you into Karkat's room, but then what's the point? You can argue, for no payout. Or you can obey, and John will reward you.

You juggle three water bottles into the hold of one arm so you can knock again when you return. This time John opens the door wide.

You nearly drop the bottles.

Part of it is the suddenness, but mostly it's the sight of Karkat behind John's shoulder. You give Karkat shit for being gross all the time, but that's like—it's the whole thing you and he and Sollux do, give each other shit constantly. Right now, that's the last thing from your mind.

You knew there was a fixture in Karkat's ceiling for this exact purpose, you _knew_ it was there, but it's different to see Karkat stretched out to his tiptoes with his hands bound in black rope attached to a loop in the ceiling. He's got a blindfold across his eyes, lips parted, head lulled gently against his arm. The blindfold is all he's wearing.

“Thank you, Dave,” John says.

At the sound of _your_ name, Karkat inhales sharply. Well, then.

John takes the waters from you and sets them on Karkat's dresser. You stand there, blatantly staring. You have to admit that Karkat's grown out of the stocky kid he was during the game—now he's all packed-on muscle and spitfire, and to see him so at John's mercy—that—

That sure does something to you.

Karkat, who could tear your throat out with his teeth; Karkat, who could claw his way through an army; Karkat, who fucks you hard and steady until you're sobbing; Karkat, bound and shuddering at the sound of John's voice.

John approaches you again, standing so he doesn't block your line of sight. His fingers fit under your chin, but he doesn't use his hold to direct you. Just to touch. His thumb brushes across your lower lip, comes away faint pink from the traces of lipstick still staining there. “He's so pretty like this, isn't he?”

“Yes, sir—shit.” That wasn't part of this scene, but habit made you slip. You feel your face heat.

John chuckles, and that warmth trickles down your spine. “That's okay, baby. You can say that.”

You finally, _finally_ , manage to tear your gaze off Karkat to look at John. God, you want to kiss him. You _want_. Ain't that a miracle. Look what this idiot does to you. What they both do to you.

“Where, uh. Where do you want me?” you manage.

“That depends,” John hums, “on what _you_ want.”

You swallow, gaze drifting back to Karkat. “I. Uh.”

John strokes his hand along your jaw, patient.

Tentatively, you say, “I thought I was I just here to watch.”

“Is that still what you want?” John prompts.

You shake your head. That's the best you can manage at the moment. You're not used to wanting. Not like this. The way it usually goes is that someone checks if you okay, jumps your dick, and then by the time you actually want something you're already desperate for it. You don't know how to handle it from the start.

“Karkat,” John says, and Karkat's entire body goes tight. “Would you like Dave to touch you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Karkat hisses. He shifts his weight on his toes.

“You can touch him, then,” John says to you. “As much as you'd like. But he's not allowed to come, yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, and mentally slam your head into the wall again. You're so fucked. You're already so deep into it. John sends you on one tiny little errand, and Karkat looks all pretty and helpless, and you're already falling so, so bad.

John steps back, inviting you to go to Karkat, and fuck, do you want to, but—

“Wait,” you choke out, and John freezes. He quirks a brow at you. “Wait, I— _sorry_.”

And you grab John and kiss him.

You're overstepping your role, overstepping your boundaries in this room, where it's all _John and Karkat_ , but you _want_ , and that's such a rare, confusing thing that you can't do anything else until you've made sure John knows that. Knows that you want him.

His noise of surprise is muffled against your lips. His hands fit against your waist, but he doesn't push you off like you're expecting. Instead, his fingers tighten against your body, and he pulls you close, chests flush.

You bite his lip, and the part of you that's tumbling into subspace start screaming at you, but John lets out a soft noise and lets you lick into his mouth, and that's enough of a reward that your brain stops yelling.

He indulges you for a moment longer, and when he pulls away, his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks tinted pink. Holy shit.

“I should punish you for that,” he says, low.

You shudder.

John pulls in a long breath. On the exhale, he says, “I won't, this time. Don't do that again without permission.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.

John's hand slides up your back and into your hair. He tugs you away from him, harsh enough to establish who's in charge here after your insubordination, but soft enough it's not a punishment. He nudges you towards Karkat.

And finally, you peel yourself away. You slip from John's grasp and go to Karkat, and as you move closer, you know Karkat is listening for you because he goes tenser and tenser with each step.

“Hi,” you say, standing in front of him.

Karkat snorts at you.

“Don't startle,” you warn, and you brush your fingers across his cheek.

Karkat startles, anyway. “It doesn't help if you don't tell me _where_ you're gonna touch me, bulgemuncher,” he grumbles.

“Don't bite,” you say, ignoring him, and you brush your thumb over Karkat's bottom lip, an echo of what John did to you earlier.

Karkat doesn't bite you. Instead, his tongue darts out to meet the pad of your thumb. You feel stuck somewhere between obedience and control, and it goes to your head. Makes you feel like you're drugged, every movement syrupy and adoring.

You trail your hand across Karkat's jaw, follow the curve of him down to his chest. You press both palms against his torso. His skin is thicker than yours, rougher, but you've long ago stopped finding it feel alien under your fingertips. You're not sure if you ever really did, from the first time you held hands on a meteor, a lifetime ago.

You follow the stretch of his arms, now, tracing along the tense muscles. You curl your fingers against his biceps on your way up to his hands. You feel around the ropes bound around Karkat's wrists—you barely have to stretch your hands above you, given the height difference between you two. Karkat is clutching onto the lead, but when you whisper your touch across his fingers, he releases with one hand to instead tangle his fingers with yours.

Even as he grips your hand, Karkat grits out, “Get on with it.”

From behind you, John scolds, “Be nice.”

“He's the one—”

“ _Karkat_ ,” John rumbles, and Karkat cuts himself off with the ghost of a whimper.

You pity him, a little, maybe (you pity him a lot, you're so in love with him, with the way he meets you blow-for-blow, the way he bares his fangs at you and then kisses you to shut you both up, the way he laughs loud and booming). You extract your fingers from his and smooth down his sides.

Like this, his grubscars are on full display. They've darkened over time, no longer the candy red of his teen years, but they're still dull pink, and when you brush across them, you know they're just as sensitive. Karkat twitches when you dig your fingers into them. You might be a stranger to scene with him, but you're no stranger to getting him worked up.

So you rub along his grubscars, and Karkat digs his teeth into his bottom lip, clearly swallowing whatever sounds keep trying to pull out of his chest.

“Come on, Karkat,” John murmurs. “You'll get so much more out of this if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck—” Karkat gasps, “—you.”

“You can do better than that.” John's voice is laced with such disappointment, it almost gets to you, too, but he adds, “Keep going, Dave. We'll have Karkat begging, yet.”

You hear movement behind you, but you're a bit preoccupied by the sight of Karkat's bulge spilling out of its sheath between your bodies. You reach one hand down, and immediately his bulge tangles between your fingers.

John appears in your periphery as he circles behind Karkat. One of his hands fits over yours at Karkat's waist, and as he presses against Karkat's back, it pushes Karkat's bulge into your hand.

“You're already so wet,” John murmurs. “How long until we have you on your knees, begging to be fucked?”

Karkat starts to let out a _hmmph_ noise, but you squeeze his bulge and the sound turns into a groan.

“Don't you want to show Dave how good you can be?” John continues. “How pretty you look when you beg? How gorgeous you are when you're desperate? You know what he looks like. He lets go around you, still. But you. You only let go for me, don't you?”

Karkat shudders out a _yes_.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Dave, will you do something for me?” John asks, all sweetness. “Take off your clothes so they don't get dirty, and then, on your knees.”

You don't really care about the clothes. You knew shit was probably gonna get messy. You rush to comply, anyway, stripping down to your boxers. (Wait, is that Dirk's shirt you were wearing? Laundry is so confusing when you have four sets of kind-of clones in the house.)

You kneel in front of Karkat.

“Get his legs over your shoulders.”

Oh, shit. Yeah, this is going to get messy.

John helps to take Karkat's weight as you shift, so its not all on his wrists. By the time you're settled, Karkat's bulge has already gotten genetic material across half your face and in your hair.

“How heavy is he?” John asks.

“Rude,” Karkat gasps.

“Fine,” you answer.

You loop your arms over Karkat's thighs to keep him in place. He's braced between the two of you, and caught entirely.

“Remember,” John says, “you can touch him all you want, but he isn't allowed to come. That's his job, not yours. I want you to enjoy yourself, Dave.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

You use one hand to nudge Karkat's bulge out of your hair, and eventually manage to keep it pinned to his stomach. You start by kissing at the inside of Karkat's thighs, because that's the same way Jane always starts with you, and it's probably the sort of soft, romantic shit Karkat would really appreciate if he wasn't wound so tight. You suck his skin between your teeth, and his thighs don't really bruise in the same way yours do when he bites hickeys into your skin, but he groans all the same.

“Dave,” Karkat whines. “Dave, come on.”

“You're not giving orders today,” John says. You feel the shift in weight as John moves one of his hands, and you glance up just in time to see it skim up Karkat's chest until it lands over his throat. “I'll keep you quiet if I have to.”

“Fuck,” you breathe.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Karkat agrees emphatically. “If I'm not in charge, how come you can't keep your hands off me?”

“Brat,” John huffs. “Keep up the brave face all you want for Dave's sake, but I _will_ break you.”

You decide about now is a good time to lick across the folds of Karkat's nook. His reply to John stutters into a whine. You bury your face between his thighs and lick into him in earnest, this time. In a moment, you've got Karkat's genetic material dripping down your chin, and the taste of him on your lips as you thrust your tongue into him.

He doesn't taste like cherries or candy the way Terezi claims, but it's not so bad. Jade has this whole theory about troll genetic material not tasting as strong as humans' because it's basically watered down. Not that she's gotten around to actually testing that. Turns out remembering to get experiments done is pretty difficult when those experiments involve having a lot of sex. Easy to get distracted.

“That all you got?” Karkat grumbles down at you.

Alright, sue you, sometimes your mind wanders during sex. Even on a good day.

You pull off him and he squirms in protest. You lick you lips and glare. “Sorry, didn't realize you were in a position to make demands.”

“Oh,” says John from behind Karkat. “That's good, Dave.”

You bury your face back into Karkat's nook to hide the way you flush. Karkat doesn't get the chance to laugh because John's pressing one hand into his grubscars and the other curls delicately around his neck. Karkat manages a breathy _John_ before you see John's grip go harsh on his throat.

You can feel what that does to Karkat. His thighs tense around you, and he tightens on your tongue. His bulge thrashes against your hand when you have it pinned to Karkat's stomach. You can feel how on edge he is, how close he is to coming. You can see it in the way his mouth drops open soundlessly and he throws his head back.

You suck at Karkat's nook and get your mouth flooded with genetic material for your trouble. When you lick at him, he's soft and wet and twitching and so, _so_ close.

“Don't come,” John orders, and relaxes his hand.

Karkat sucks in a harsh breath, head lulling onto John's shoulder. “John, _John_ ,” he rasps. “Fuck—can't—”

John hums. “Dave—” he starts to say, but you're already pulling away. “Good boy.”

“No, no, fuck,” Karkat snarls. “Touch me, fuck, _touch me_.”

“That sounds like a demand.”

Karkat doesn't answer, just pants against John's neck.

His bulge is still squirming under your hand, so you let it tangle with your fingers. The way Karkat so immediately tenses in response makes heat flood you. You almost reach down to palm yourself, but Karkat's thigh starts sliding off your shoulder and you have to adjust your grip on him to keep him there.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Karkat chants, “Stop, fuck—I'll come—”

“Changed your mind?” John taunts. To you, he adds, “Don't stop.”

You squeeze Karkat's bulge, absently stroking along it as it twines between your fingers, dripping genetic material. You lean forward and guide the tip between your lips, sucking gently. Karkat's stomach jumps with the way he tries to find the leverage to thrust forward.

“Oh, how pretty, Dave,” John praises.

“ _Shit, shit_ , _stop_ ,” Karkat snaps.

“Not until you say please,” John says. His voice drops into something husky. “Beg Dave to stop touching you.”

Karkat lets out an anguished sort of noise. “Dave, _Dave_ , stop—”

You let more of his bulge wriggle into your mouth, running your tongue along it.

“ _Please_ ,” Karkat finally gasps out, “Please, I'll c—”

You pull off of him and plant your hand against his stomach again to keep his bulge from getting into trouble.

“That's it, Karkat,” John murmurs. “That wasn't so bad. You did good.”

Karkat shudders.

“How are you doing, Dave? Your shoulders?”

You start nodding even before you've actually taken stock of your body. You rarely find the effort necessary for sex actually worth it, but right now you're okay with it. You're—you're _enjoying_ watching Karkat break. Your knees are definitely going to hurt in an hour, but you'll deal.

“I'm good,” you answer.

“Good,” John says, pleased. His next words are spoken into Karkat's hair. “How about we try that again?”

Karkat lets out a groan.

“You don't sound very appreciative.”

“John, please...”

“I'll take care of you, you know that,” John says. “Don't you?”

Karkat shudders again, full-body. “Yes.”

“One more time,” John promises. “One more, and then we'll give Dave a show.”

Karkat pulls in a long breath. “Okay.”

John reaches up and tugs the blindfold off Karkat's face. He blinks, disoriented for a moment, before his eyes settle on you.

This time, when you lick into Karkat, he doesn't go quite as wire-taut around you. His thighs tense and twitch around you, but you can tell its just because he's sensitive. You meet his gaze as he looks down his body at you, eyes lidded. His expression is warm, filled with a sort of pleasured, begrudging acceptance.

It's better like this, you think. Seeing Karkat willing to take whatever you give him. There's an addiction here, under the surface of it all. You can see why John finds this so rewarding.

It doesn't take long. John presses his fingers against Karkat's throat, and you can feel his nook squeeze around your tongue as genetic material drips off your chin. You—you never realized, how much he loves this. What it does to him.

You never realized what it does to you.

But he's close again, you can tell. Keyed-up and letting out a low, choked whine as he forces the sound past John's fingers. When John releases him, he gasps for air and his entire body twitches so hard you think, for a moment, that he's come despite his orders.

“Gorgeous,” John whispers.

Karkat shivers.

“Let's get him down,” John says, and grabs at Karkat's hips to help shift the weight from your shoulders.

He lets you manhandle him with little issue, but he barely manages to keep on his feet. You end up standing pressed against him, Karkat leaning his weight against you, while John unties him.

As John's working with the knots, Karkat's bulge seeks out the warmth of your body, and it curls around your dick through your boxers before you can manage to stop it. Not that you exactly want to.

You keep your arms wrapped around Karkat's waist, and press your lips to one of his horns as his bulge squirms around your dick. The fabric clings to you and makes it a real shitty handjob equivalent, but you'll take it. Karkat sighs against your neck and presses a half-assed kiss there.

John gently lowers one hand down to Karkat's side, then the other. He presses into Karkat's back, keeping him trapped between you.

“Here's what I was thinking,” John says, and you hum to show you're listening even as Karkat's bulge squeezes around your dick. Your response probably comes out closer to a moan.

“I fuck him, and you watch,” John offers. “And after, I'll take care of you.”

You shake your head.

“No?”

“I'll—take care of myself,” you say. “Don't wanna wait until you're done with Karkat.”

John chuckles. He sets his palm on your cheek. “Good. Perfect. Make yourself comfortable, baby.”

John extracts Karkat from your arms. He's almost deadweight, but he finally finds his feet as John nudges him towards the bed.

“On your knees, Karkat.”

You, meanwhile, settle yourself in Karkat's desk chair, spun around so you're facing the bed. Karkat's sitting on his knees, arms still resting lax at his sides. You watch as John sheds his clothes, finally, and fits himself behind Karkat. He whispers something into Karkat's ear that has him shuddering, and then Karkat leans forward, bracing himself on his elbows.

He's clearly sore, if the trembling of his shoulders is any indicator. You and John owe him a hell of a massage after this.

But for now, he braces himself, and John runs a hand down his spine, and you shove your boxers down under your balls. You get your hand on your dick at the same moment that John grabs Karkat's hips and thrusts into his nook.

Karkat lets out a keen, a broken sound, rough around the edges from being choked.

“I've got you,” John says, and sets a sharp pace that you're very familiar with.

He's fucked you like that before, on occasion. You know how devastating it is, with the way he pounds into you. Watching him fuck into Karkat just as ruthlessly brings the memory to the forefront, and you match the pace of your hand over your cock to the thrust of John's hips.

Karkat lets his arms shift forward, burying his face into them. It muffles the sound of his whimpers, but not enough. You can still hear the sound that punches from him every time John thrusts forward.

John bites his lip. Drags it between his teeth. His fingers bite bruises into Karkat's hips. You can feel the tension between them, like its sucking you in. You're caught up in their rhythm.

And then John stops.

Karkat cries out, a sob of a noise ripping from him. “No—no, no, _John_. Don't—don't s-stop.”

You forcibly remove your hand from your dick so you don't keep going. Heat pools in your stomach, molten and desperate, and still, you know that here, you're John's.

And he does glance towards you, one brow quirked when he notices you've stopped, before a pleased smile tugs at his lips.

“Oh, you're both too good to me,” he says.

“Please, _please_ ,” Karkat sobs.

John pulls out, and flops down on the bed next to Karkat. “Take what you want, Karkat. Ride me.”

Karkat scrambles on top of him, nearly faceplanting at one point when his shoulders nearly fail him. He sits himself on John's cock in one motion, a hoarse hiccup of a sob shuddering out of him in the process.

“That's it,” John murmurs. He wraps his hands around Karkat's waist to help him move. Or maybe to torture him by touching his grubscars. You're not quite sure.

Your dick throbs.

“You can continue, Dave,” John says.

He doesn't look at you, but Karkat does, just as he starts riding John in earnest. You can see tear tracks down his cheeks. You're not entirely sure how much he can see, between the crying and the subspace and the fucking, but he looks at you and lets out a low voice, a pleased stuttering purr that's entirely uninhibited by his hoarse throat because it comes from his chest.

You very nearly come right there.

As it is, you're so, so close. You work your dick at the same pace Karkat rides John, and nothing quite prepares you for the way Karkat goes entirely boneless when he comes. He's still purring, that soft chittering, even as John fucks him through it, wraps his arms around Karkat and twists them both down to the bed so Karkat's under him, fucks him slow and steady into oversensitivity.

John bites his lip again, and you know that expression, have seen it so many times when he fucks into one of your partners, and now you're watching him come as he fucks into Karkat, and you spill into your hand with a whimper.

Your orgasm takes you, makes your limbs feel light. It rushes to you, and your brain feel like clouds or marshmallow or static or something else soft and mindless.

When you come down, John's rolled to Karkat's side and is wrapped almost entirely around him. He tilts his head out of Karkat's hair to look at you.

“Would you mind grabbing a warm washcloth for me? Go ahead and clean up, too, but don't take too long.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No _sir_ ,” John says, “We're done baby. You did so good, but we're done now.”

You nod, and John gives you one of those blinding childhood grins, all front teeth. You won't get in trouble for kissing him now, but you resist the urge because Karkat needs the cleanup and aftercare way more than you need to kiss John's stupid face.

So you go. You lose your boxers on the way, because you can't be bothered with them. You wash your hands, and your face and down to your collarbone because you were covered in tacky pink genetic material all over. By the time you come back with a warm washcloth, John's moved him and Karkat to a clean spot on the bed, but they're still tangled together.

“He's out,” John says softly. He's got one of Karkat's hands in his, massaging his fingers. “Can you wipe down his thighs?”

You do as your told—no, asked. Scene's over. Sometimes it gets a little muddy. You clean up Karkat's thighs and around his sheath where his bulge has retreated, and then pass the washcloth to John.

“Here,” John says, slowly pulling away from Karkat. “Your turn for cuddles.”

“Fuck yes,” you say.

John laughs, soft. You dive for the bed, snuggling up to Karkat. He lets out a grumpy little huff at all the movement, but by the time you're all done shifting around, John's managed to get off the bed, and you've got Karkat laying on top of you, cheek on your chest.

“I'll be right back,” John says. “Gonna clean up and then grab some snacks. Can you handle him?”

“I've got him,” you say.

“He's usually a little out of it. Don't be mean.”

“Don't sell me short here, John, I've got this shit on lockdown.”

John laughs again. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Sorry. I worry.”

“You literally just pounded his ass into oblivion,” you deadpan.

“That's why I worry.”

“Shut up and get me some apple juice.”

John snorts. “Addict.”

“Cynic.”

John roll his eyes and finally leaves. You bury your nose in Karkat's hair and stroke your hands down his back in slow movements. He comes back to you in bits and pieces: first snuggling closer, shoving his face in your neck, then gripping at your hip, claws just barely sharp enough to prick your skin, and then finally with a soft sigh of, “John.”

“Try again,” you tell him.

You think, maybe, that this was part of John's plan to get you both over yourselves when it comes to scene. It's a bit of an ambush, to leave you here to deal with the aftercare while John disappears, and you think Karkat probably would have been a little anxious about it if he weren't so well-fucked.

“How are you?”

Karkat lets out a soft groan, shifting on top of you. “Sore. Tired.”

“Relaxed?”

“...Relaxed.”

“John will be back with snacks in a moment.”

“Oh.”

You thread a hand through Karkat's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He sighs and holds you tighter. He's so warm against you, always so warm, and now, in the afterglow, you feel like he's melting against you. Like his contentment is sinking into you. You're lazy and soft and, god damn, you love him.

If sex were a business deal, then this is always what sells it for you. The orgasms are great, sure, but the aftercare—that's the gold at the end of the rainbow. This is what makes it worth it. The closeness. The warmth. The love.

“This is my favorite part,” you say softly.

Karkat's quiet for a long moment. And then, he rasps, “Mine too.”

“I dunno,” you muse, “you seemed to really enjoy John fucking you.”

“Ugh,” Karkat says. “Shut up. Like John hasn't fucked you until you cried. I can't believe he did that. I can't believe he made me ride him.”

“He's done that to me, too,” you say. “You were hot.”

“Shut up,” Karkat grumbles.

“You were so good for him,” you continue. “You did everything he asked. You were so pretty when you begged for us.”

“Hhhhhn,” Karkat says, a very intelligent contribution to the conversation.

“Thank you,” you say, “for letting me see this.”

Karkat clears his throat. “Yeah, well, maybe you're pretty good with your mouth when you do something other than talk with it.”

You laugh. “You knew that, Katkitty. I've eaten you out before.”

“Yeah, but it's—it's different, when I'm desperate for it.”

Karkat shivers.

“Cold?”

“No. I. Not cold.”

“It's different, when John Egbert is edging you to hell and back,” you say.

Karkat snorts. “Yeah, something like that. But, uh...”

He trails off. You think he's fallen asleep, maybe. You feel the gentle inhale of each breath under your hand, still trailing over Karkat's back. But then, very softly, he finishes, “It's you, too. You've never been mean to me before, not with sex.”

“I don't like to be,” you say. “But I like following orders.”

Karkat takes a deep breath. “We should do this again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You like me so much you want me back?”

“Ugh,” Karkat says.

“Answer the question, Karkles.”

He shifts his head so he's resting back against your shoulder. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, idiot.”

You grin at him, and—you weren't lying when you said you like following orders, a Knight to your core. You press your lips to his, soft and gentle, and one kiss turns into two turns into ten turns into murmured _love you_ s between each touch.

And then John comes back and kickstarts the aftercare proper by making you both drink a water bottle and eat some chocolate and orange slices. You don't really need it, but John makes you, anyway, and you're totally okay with it when Karkat licks chocolate off the corner of your mouth.

“So,” John says, later, when you're all curled up under the blankets. “How was it?”

“Your dick is magical and I've ascended to another world,” Karkat deadpans.

“Well, I know _that_ ,” John snarks back, “I meant with each other.”

“It was good,” you say, before Karkat can come up with a quip. “Feel free to show me off next time.”

“Shit,” Karkat hisses. “Yeah, let's do that.”

“Oh,” says John. “Good.”

 _Oh_ , says your brain as it finally catches up to your mouth, _good_.

When you make it back home the next day after a morning spent lazing around Karkat's hive in your underwear, you open your bedroom door to find Dirk sprawled out across your bed.

A millennia ago, a lifetime ago, this would terrify you. An ambush. Pick up your sword, boy, get ready to fight. Now, it doesn't matter so much. Now, it's just him and Rose and Roxy that are allowed into your room without invitation, because they're the ones who know you. Know how to handle you. Know how to:

“Just wanted to hang out,” Dirk says softly, without moving from your bed. He shifts though, turning so his pale amber gaze is blinking slowly at you. He's unassuming and safe, even as he invades your space, but he knows you, sets you at ease in a way that the Prospit dreamers in your household have just never quite understood.

The fear you once wore like a blanket is now thrown out, ratty and moth-bitten, tossed in the trash. You go to the bed and flop down next to Dirk.

His fingertips brush across your arm, trail down to your hand. And then it's his nose, nudged against your temple. You're a precious thing.

“How'd it go?” Dirk asks.

You turn to your side, and he mirrors you, so you're facing each other. His toes poke your shin, and then he wriggles a leg between yours, warm and familiar.

“Good,” you say. “Surprisingly good.”

“Surprisingly?” Dirk echoes. “You dare doubt daddy dom John?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laugh. “Don't call him that.”

Dirk sniffs. “John would be a great daddy.”

“You into that?”

“Hm,” Dirk says.

You settle a hand on his hip. “We both know you prefer when Rose or Jane play mommy.”

“Well, I can't argue that. They always take such good care of me.” A pause, and the corner of Dirk's mouth twitches. “Of both of us, I'd say.”

“It went really well yesterday,” you continue, effectively rerouting the conversation from derailing into your and Dirk's respective instant baby modes the minute someone starts to pamper you.

“Yeah?” Dirk brushes your hair off your forehead, tucks a lock behind your ear that doesn't stay put.

“I said next time John could show me off, instead.”

Dirk whistles. “Damn. Really did go well. Look at you. Planning sexcapades. Karkat got you that hot and bothered, huh? I must admit troll dicks are vastly superior.”

You pinch his waist, and he laughs.

“I didn't even—well, I mean, I ate him out, but it was all him and John getting down and dirty, but I... I guess I'd kinda assumed since Karkat and I didn't really click like that, we'd never find a way to make it work out, and now...”

“Hey, preaching to the choir here. Sometimes you need more than two people to make a dynamic work.”

“I know,” you murmur. “I'm just. Happy. Overwhelmed. I don't know. Something.”

Dirk squirms until he gets you in his arms and pulls you close. He sticks his nose in your hair and says. “That's okay. Just feel. You're good at that. Feeling.”

“That's not true,” you say. “That's _so_ not true.”

“It is,” says Dirk. “You think you're bad at it because you never let it show. But you feel.”

You make a dubious noise whine out of the back of your throat.

“You know,” he continues, words braided into your hair. “Jake and I came so, so close to catastrophically crashing and burning. I'm a fucking idiot, but I'm not so stupid that I was blind to how very nearly it all fell apart.”

“You don't have to...” you start to say, but Dirk squeezes you and keeps talking.

“I kept trying to find a reason. I kept trying to find some part of me to blame. Some fault of person. That a better version of me might have been able to keep him. Make him truly happy. But the reality of it is that no version of Jake would have ever needed any version of me the way I needed him. We're just wired different.”

“Jane saved you,” you mumble.

“Jane saved us,” Dirk agrees. “And then you, and John, and Roxy, and Rose, and Jade. I have never felt so utterly complete as I have in between the seven of you.”

“Fuckin' sap,” you grumble.

Dirk chuckles softly. “Maybe. But the point of it is that I wish, when I was a stupid kid, that I'd been able to recognize that it wasn't that our relationship was failing on its own but that we were both just. Incomplete. We needed to grow. Jake didn't even know he was aro when we started dating.”

Dirk leans back, and you, in turn, tilt your head back to meet his gaze. He tries again to brush the lock of hair behind your ear, and fails, so instead he kisses the corner of your mouth. “I'm proud of you for trying something new with Karkat. I'm proud of you for taking that risk, and I'm proud of you for trusting that even if it had gone wrong, that you'd get through it. Growth is tough shit, sometimes, but you're still brave enough to try.”

You open your mouth. No words come out. Never a normal fuckin' conversation with Dirk, huh. You're only barely surprised to find your eyes are burning with the threat of tears. Eventually, you manage a choked, “Fuck.”

“You smell like Karkat, you know.”

You shove at Dirk's shoulder so he topples onto his back and throw your other arm over your eyes to hide.

Dirk laughs as he falls back onto the bed. He grabs the hand you pushed him with before you can retreat and threads your fingers together.

“Damn, fuck you,” you say, “I already said I was overwhelmed, you dick.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Don't you fucking dare. Holy shit, man, that's—” You suck in a deep breath, squeezing your eyes closed tight behind your arm. “You're just droppin' atomic bombs up in this bitch, nuclear fallout everywhere. You've decimated my turntables, Dirk. My turntables.”

“Are you dying of radiation poisoning?”

“I'm dying of radiation poisoning,” you confirm.

“Horrifying,” Dirk comments.

“Each and every one of my organs are breaking down as we speak. I'll be dead in minutes.”

“Tragic.”

You hear and feel Dirk shift, but you resolutely keep your eyes covered. He lets you hide, but he brushes his knuckles across your jaw and guides your lips to meet his. He kisses you like he's drinking starlight from your lips, licking ambrosia from your tongue—slow and gentle and exploratory. Always, he tastes you with such adoration. He's savoring this, savoring you, and that makes your entire body prickle with the warmth of him.

His kisses reach into you at your core, and you think maybe this is what it means to love a Prince of Heart, for he breaks you down and builds himself back into you. He lines the cracks of your being with gold like those fancy Japanese pots.

You slip your arm away from your face and allow yourself to open your eyes. Dirk catches the movement, meets your gaze, and smiles against your mouth.

You fit your palm against his cheek. Sometimes you wonder if the two of you look mirrors of each other, but it never feels that way. Watching Dirk never feels like you're looking at your reflection. Your reflection is neutral, stoic, lacking.

But Dirk—Dirk is all love.

And you can't fucking say any of that shit out loud, not on purpose, because fuck, maybe he's right. Maybe you do feel real damn easy but it's the expressing it part that really sucks ass.

For his sake, though, you at least make an attempt.

“Hey,” you say, words caught between your lips.

Dirk pulls back enough to give you room to talk. God knows you need that. “Hey.”

“You know I love you, right?”

Dirk huffs. “Why are you saying that like you're about to go to war or some shit?”

You splutter. “I mean it!”

“Uh-huh,” Dirk says, smirk pulling at his mouth. “I'm sure you won't have any war-time dalliances once they ship you out to combat. Must be hard to resist all those physically fit soldiers you're with all the time.”

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Of course I know,” Dirk says, actually answering you. “You aren't planning on going to war, are you?”

“Asshole.”

“I'll take that as a no. You'd miss us too much.”

“I am not going to war,” you deadpan. “Been there, done that. Too much blood.”

“I agree. I might go as far as saying I've been decapitated enough for one lifetime.”

“You're too cavalier about that.”

“That's a big word for you.”

“Bite me,” you growl.

Dirk ducks his head and nips at your jaw, just enough to sting.

“Fuck,” you say, and hit his shoulder.

“You offering?” Dirk counters.

You're about to shove him off, and you're very sure that this would rapidly devolve into wrestling if not for the knock at the door.

Dirk folds his arms across your chest and drops his weight onto you. “Who is it?” he singsongs, while you wheeze for breath.

“Dirk?” Jake voice calls from the other side of the door.

You wriggle until Dirk's chin or elbow or whatever the fuck stops managing to stab directly into your lungs. “Come in Jake,” you choke out.

Jake lets himself in. “Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt.”

“It's alright,” Dirk says.

Jake hesitates in the doorway, just for a moment.

“Come join us,” you say.

Jake visibly brightens, and he settles himself next to you on the bed. Dirk immediately rolls into the minute space between you, wedging himself up against Jake, a leg tossed over his thigh.

“He just got here, and you're already hogging him,” you huff.

“I'm sure there's enough of me to go around, chaps,” Jake chirps.

It takes a lot of poking Dirk in the side and some grumbling, but you eventually get him to roll over to Jake's other side. He does this by rolling entirely over Jake, and while Dirk's weight had winded you, Jake just guides him along with a hand on Dirk's waist like a dancer performing a lift.

So Dirk figures out his whole octopus grab on Jake's other side, and you're not Rose, so you don't really read into the way Dirk always clings to you and Jake and the others, and you don't think about the fact that maybe he's just so afraid of losing you all that he holds you like it might be the last time, like if he sticks to you like thistles he might travel with you even to the ends of the Earth and beyond.

But like you said, you're not Rose, so you definitely don't think any of that.

Instead, you just snuggle up against the warm, solid line of Jake's side, rest your head on his shoulder, and let him keep you pressed against him with an arm curled around your back. You find Dirk's hand, resting on Jake's chest, and tangle your fingers together, and likewise tangle your legs together where you and Dirk fight to find a comfortable position that doesn't involve one of you poking each other with your toes.

Eventually, as it always happens, you settle. You know this syrupy, honey feeling won't last forever. Probably won't even last fifteen minutes, because you know Jake gets restless, but you can enjoy it while it does last.

With Jake in your bed, the conversation veers away from anything you and Dirk had been talking about. And even as you're busy arguing with Dirk and Jake about Transformers, you think that there's a balancing act here, too: that if Jake and Dirk need someone else to be complete, then you and Dirk do, too, because you need some help to make this lighthearted, chocolate-sweet kind of love.

Some part of you recognizes how special it is that Jake, who sees romance through clouded glass, is the one that makes you feel like this. If you were a better man, you'd find the words to tell him.

But you're not.

So instead you interrupt him mid-sentence by kissing him right on the mouth, and Dirk, ever your accomplice, immediately starts sucking a kiss onto his collarbone. Jake only barely tries to keep arguing before he gives up and kisses you back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update schedules are for nerds i have no idea what's happening next this fic keeps growing plot like a goddamn fungus


End file.
